


Earning Keep

by SirKai



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirKai/pseuds/SirKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a former Deception who had (or has) quite a knack for cruelty and brutality, Knock Out has quite a few rough relationships to smooth over, and a very uptight boss to impress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earning Keep

Knock Out’s footsteps didn’t so much clang as they clicked and clacked. Warriors, commandos, and wreckers all _clanged_ when they walked. This fashionable ex-Decepticon was more sophisticated than that. He strolled near the security checkpoint at the hallway junction operated by a familiar, and none too pleasant, face.

Ratchet stood tapping away at his console keyboard all hunched over. He was squinting, and altogether far too invested in something that, from Knock Out’s optics, looked like nothing more than pages of paragraphs. No doubt all planning and procedure absolutely vital to the continued restoration of their home world. Important? Probably. _Boring?_ Most definitely.

“Morning, Doc-Bot,” the sports car greeted as he passed by. He strolled up to the massive reinforced door labeled ‘LABORATORY’ in bold red lettering.

“Hold it, Knock Out.” The seasoned Autobot doctor marched from behind the terminal to confront Knock Out in front of the fortified door.

“Really Ratchet? Is it necessary to make me trapeze through hoops just to _walk down the hall?_ ”

“That’s the wing with the lab and chemical storage, Knock Out. I’m on security detail today, so you’re getting a thorough scan. I haven’t forgotten that you’re a scientist as well as a doctor.” Ratchet raised his forearm scanner and slowly waved it up and down the sporty red frame. The green light reflected off its freshly waxed paneling.

Knock Out impatiently tapped a claw against his hip, glowering as he followed the distracting green emission. “Oh yes, Primus forbid I’m allowed _to do my job!_ ”

“A job you shouldn’t be allowed to have in the first place!” the medic growled. He shut off the scanner once it was obvious the accused wasn’t smuggling any lethally toxic compounds or fusion cannons.

“Well it just so happens that I _do_ have it, so I suggest you get used to me being on the payroll.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten your cruelty Knock Out; you’ve threatened innocents,” Ratchet hissed. “ _Children._ ”

“To be fair,” Knock Out sneered from the corner of his mouth. “If you’d just picked up the kids from school on time, that whole _threatening-to-murder-them-on-Cybertron_ thing could have been avoided.”

The aged optics of the Autobot medic narrowed into slits. “How _dare_ you!” he spat, lunging forward with both hands aimed for the ex-Decepticon’s neck.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Ratchet froze in place. Partly because of the ten clawed digits poised to scratch his optics out, but mostly because of Ultra Magnus's commanding tone. The tips of his servos were barely scraping at the ex-Con's pale neck when he shoved the other doctor away. Ratchet shook his hands out, like he’d just touched something corrosive. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Ultra Magnus. Just the usual antagonizing by our _newest team member._ ”

“What!?" The claws were in the air again, but this time for Knock Out to help punctuate his speech instead of puncture an attacker. "Oh yes, I ‘antagonize’ but your condescension and security hoopla is just ‘standard procedure’. And tell me, where does the ‘physical assault’ fit in?” The sports car rested one hand on his hip and continued waving the other around at the two other Autobots as he talked.

“Ratchet,” Magnus said sternly. He placed a gentle hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “That behavior is highly unfit for active duty. I’ll be speaking to you in my office after your shift.”

“Ultra Magnus,” Ratchet said in a low and bated tone, like speaking down to a pet who had dragged its prey into the house. “You can’t really be sticking up for him-”

“ _But_ ,” the Commander interrupted, now staring at Knock Out with folded arms. “In the interest of… personal curiosity, I’m inclined to hear an explanation on the _reformed behavior_ of our most recent addition. For the record. And it wouldn’t be wise to disappoint a senior officer, Knock Out.”

Ratchet glared at Ultra Magnus.

“ _Two_ senior officers. Apologies.”

The definitely-senior medic replied with a nod and turned back towards the newest recruit.

Knock Out’s jaw hung open for a few seconds of silence until he saw it fit to resume the hand waving while he rambled. “Oh please, listen to the two of you! Do I look like some roaming vagrant, or a devout Megatron groupie? There. Are. No. More. Decepticons. I operate on safety and security. And guess what? This little Autobot troupe here-”

“Troupe?” Magnus and Ratchet repeated in tandem, both in tones of varying disgust.

“-offers both of those. Do I need to slap on some gaudy badge somewhere on my paneling?” Knock Out pointed a sharpened digit into his chest, then held up his hand to highlight the servos themselves. “Or file down my claws and throw some filters in my optics so they’re beaming just the _right shade_ of Autobot blue? I don’t know what I need to do to convince everyone that there’s nowhere left for me to turn.” His frame slouched. “Unless Megatron comes back with army of eradicons and _two_ new warships with a glistening welcome mat that says ‘Come Back Knock Out We Miss You,’ then I won’t be much of a concern. So if you all want me to be an asset-- sorry, ‘team player’--” he added, mimicking quotations with his fingers. “--rather than a prisoner, then start treating me like one instead of keeping me on a leash for your own self righteous amusement.”

Knock Out punched in the pass code on the nearby panel, and the heavy doors split apart to reveal the sterile white laboratory hallway. “And by the way, should that little Megatron scenario take place, I’d be the last thing for any of you boy scouts to be worrying about,” he warned while pointing aggressively at the two senior Autobots. “Now if you’ve had your fill of this petty bullying, _I_ have things to do.” The ex-Con’s feet clicked and clacked as he hurried through the door.

Ratchet ground his mouth plates together, while the taller Autobot’s mouth was parted slightly like he was still chewing on a retort. Instead the two stood together, unspoken, as the expected series of locks reverberated and snapped into place, sealing the door closed.

“He might have a point about the Decepticons, but it still doesn’t feel quite right to call him an Autobot, does it?” Ratchet asked with a sigh.

“Maybe not, Doctor. But I suppose it’s something we’ll all have to get used to.”

Ratchet looked up expectantly at Magnus, waiting for the punch line.

The Autobot Commander remained stone faced.

The medic shuddered. He cursed quietly and returned to his terminal.

 

\---

 

Tightening. Bolting. Lots of wiring _and_ a good deal of measuring. The living quarters so _graciously_ provided by Knock Out's host was indeed something of a 'fixer-upper,' as Wheeljack had said far too affectionately. The room was barren except for a work desk and a recharge slab that needed some _serious_ up keep.

"You sure you don't need any help?" Wheeljack offered on the day of the move in. He scratched at his chin with his thumb. "With me and Bulk on this, it'll go a lot quicker."

"No," Knock Out decided. "This room is _mine_ , so I'll handle it."

"Whatever you say. I’ll be _happy_ to have to an excuse to dodge Mags’ to-do list if you change your mind." The Wrecker waved him off and exited to the hallway.

In spite of the Wrecker’s surprisingly warm hospitality, Knock Out didn't change his mind, and here he was, almost a week later and finally with functioning lights, a private energon distillery, and a polished recharge slab. Once he'd finished constructing the shelf to organize his body care products, the room might finally resemble something _habitable_ . The last thing he needed was an interruption.

Naturally of course there was knocking at his door.

The annoyed ex-Decepticon made a guttural whining noise. “Do you really need my permission!?” he yelled through the wall. Nothing was going to stop, whoever it was, from coming inside anyway. Being resistant would just make him look suspicious.

The grey door slid open, revealing the towering, bulky blue frame of Knock Out’s second least favorite Autobot brother-in-arms. He squinted and mouthed a swear.

“Good evening, Knock Out,” Ultra Magnus said as he stepped inside, gripping his ever-present datapad. The _newly recruited_ Autobot figured it must be _the_ certified weapon of choice for Ultra Magnus’s daily routine, right up there with his scowl and his habit for correcting nearly every sentence someone uttered on active duty.

“Evening,” the sports car said absentmindedly. He continued tightening a bolt on the shelving.

“I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

“Oh _no_ , of course not. As you can see I’m absolutely _not busy at all_ .” Knock Out tightened further, nearly snapping the bolt out of its socket. He decided to let it go and work on securing the opposite end of the shelf instead.

“I wanted to provide some… resolution to the occurrence from earlier today.”

Wonderful, Knock Out thought. “And what about our precious _Chief Medical Officer?_ Did he get any kind of _resolution?_ ”

“Of course,” Magnus said without missing a beat. “He’s being appropriately reprimanded; a light infraction all told, given what you said to incite his reaction.”

“What can I say? I’m a creature of habit,” Knock Out smugly admitted. He turned back towards the shelf, still feeling his commanding officer’s engulfing shadow. “Was there something else you wanted? Because that would be a rather _satisfying_ note to close the night with.”

Magnus glared into the back of of Knock Out’s head. “You _are_ cruel. Not to mention arrogant and _rude_.”

The ex-Con limply raised his hand before he socketed another bolt into the shelf. “Guilty as charged,” he said flatly.

“You’re also efficient, knowledgeable, and quite thorough.”

Pausing, the sports car eyed at Ultra Magnus suspiciously from over his shoulder.

The commanding Autobot unfolded his hand to reveal a pristine Autobot badge. It was perfectly symmetrical, just the right shade of red (one that Knock Out had always liked, though he’d never admit that in the company of his previous comrades), and exhibited a rather attractive sheen. “Your results prove you’re a hard worker in spite of your attitude and, _ahem_ , employment history. I’m inclined to think you might have something to prove.”

The corners of Knock Out’s optics were fixed on Ultra Magnus's hand. He focused on the badge, delicately plucking it between two claws from Magnus’s open palm like it was rigged to explode. He turned the insignia over several times in the light of his desk lamp. “Why not have Bumblebee or Smokescreen deliver this?” he asked, dodging the subject. “Not exactly a secret that you can barely stand to be in the same room as me. Besides, don’t you Autobots normally hold _ceremonies_ for all this touchy-feely stuff?”

“I know you wouldn’t appreciate something so ostentatious, and I didn’t want you to misunderstand; this is not a friendly gesture. It’s a formal commendation from your commanding officer.”

“How considerate of you. It even matches my eyes,” Knock Out sassed. He glanced up at the commanding Autobot with half-lidded optics. “You do know I’m still not going to wear this, right?”

“You don’t have to. But it’s your’s, and it represents who you are, so I expect you to take care of it.” Ultra Magnus backed towards the doorway and looked back at Knock Out with a slight nod. “Welcome aboard, Doctor.”

Knock Out smirked at his commanding officer and gave him a halfhearted salute. Once the Commander had returned to the hall, Knock Out weighed the badge in his hand and held it up to the light. He closed one optic and pictured how it might look displayed on one of his shelves.


End file.
